


His Girl

by Neffectual



Series: Violet 'Verse [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Coming Out, F/F, F/M, Introspection, M/M, Trans Female Character, trans Jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4750679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason Todd took until she was thirty to become Violet, and she sometimes wonders if she'll ever feel quite right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Girl

She hasn’t made it easy for any of them, she thinks, running her hands through the wig and shaking loose the curls she still can’t get used to. It would be easier if she could grow her own out, but that’s not allowed, not yet, not something she’s going to push for. Bruce doesn’t look at her properly since she corrected him on her pronouns, on her name, and he seems most happy when she’s in costume, hidden beneath a cowl. Her brothers look, but sometimes it hovers on the edge of becoming a stare, and her skin prickles under the attention. Tim and Damian don’t have the right to look at her like that, and Dick – Dick’s eyes slide over her like she’s a society girl at a party with a nice ass and an awful laugh, and that hurts more than anything else.

Jason Todd took until she was thirty to become Violet, and she thinks she’d like to blame being dead for knocking thoughts out of her head, for chasing her away from her true self, but she always hid those parts, even from herself. She’d grown up tough and raw, street kid, all skinned knees and no vulnerabilities, and once Bruce took her in and called her ‘son’, she couldn’t dream of ever disappointing him. That’s what she’s done, she thinks, watching the way his mouth twists as she settles the wig on, slips out of spandex and into a skirt – she’s disappointed him, and that’s something she thought she’d only ever have to cope with when she killed someone. Maybe she has, she thinks; maybe she’s killed Jason Todd.

On the street, she still throws a punch with the best, and her flexibility is up from all the yoga she’s doing at home in a bid not to be in the cave, not to work the weights the same way she always has. Bulking up is even more obvious when she goes to try evening dresses, just in case Bruce will let her be Violet for an evening soiree, rather than be Jason. He doesn’t, and she doesn’t hide the sigh of relief, because every dress hung on her frame wrong, and she’d had half a mind to crack the mirror just so she didn’t have to look at what was wrong about her.

The girls are the best part about coming out, she finds; Barbara there to offer tips about breasts, because she’s not exactly stacked herself. Cass and Steph show her some make-up tips and talk about contouring, giggling over a few drinks as they play dress up with her in the nicest way possible. Steph shrugs, when Violet asks if it’s okay.  
“I always wanted a sister to do this with. You’re my bat-sister, so it counts.”  
Cass nods, silent as usual, but smiles her support as Steph runs through the tools in her make-up kit. It’s not perfect, and Violet wonders if she’ll always feel a little like an outsider, but they’re trying, which is more than some people. Selina appears one night, a rooftop near the Cave and offers her shoes, large enough for her feet but delicate enough to work with dresses.  
“I’ve got some friends who’ve got big feet.” She says, softly, and Violet doesn’t bother to ask how she knows, because the cat burglar hears everything eventually, “Don’t think it’s only those on the heroes side who care. You’re as much one of ours as one of theirs.”

Dick has the hardest time of it, and Violet tries not to let it hurt too much when he slips up, calls her ‘Jay’, or uses the wrong pronoun. They’ve been lovers ten years, and she could have stayed Jay, stayed the girl form of her old name, but that wouldn’t have been right for what she wanted. Not just to make it easier for Dick, a man who can remember three dozen aliases and how to respond to a name which isn’t his when he’s undercover, but can’t remember that he’s got a girlfriend now, not a boyfriend. He’s not bad about it, it isn’t that he’s not trying, but he’s so used to offhand comments about her that it’s sometimes hard to chase his words down and change them before they’re out in the open.  
“She.” Violet says, quietly, correcting him for the third time, “She, Dick.”  
“She.” Dick says, and there’s a flash of hurt on his face – hurt for her, hurt for what he is doing to her, “Sorry, Vi.”  
She shakes her head, feeling the curls of the wig against her cheeks. He doesn’t mean it, just so used to her being him that sometimes he trips over his words. He doesn’t mean it, and she keeps repeating that when they go to bed, and she curls into the hollow of his collarbone, like she always has.  
“Love you, Vi.” Dick whispers, stroking her hair where the buzzcut is starting to grow out, “Always have, always will.”  
Dick Grayson is many things, she thinks, but he’s not actually a great liar.

Damian, when Bruce deems is appropriate to tell him, just shrugs dismissively.  
“Well, of course she’s a girl.” He says, as if the truth were self-evident, as if Violet doesn’t still hate herself in the mirror when she shaves every morning, “Did you think this would shock me? I have the internet, father.”  
Bruce looks, for a moment, like he wants to take that liberty away from his son, before he smiles.  
“Hi. Violet Todd.” She says, stepping forward to break the awkwardness, and Damian takes her outstretched hand and kisses it, like he does all the women at the fancy parties Bruce drags him to.  
“Charmed to meet you.” He replies, then stands, looking her in the eyes, “But I don’t believe I need to be introduced to my own sister.” His voice is dismissive, but it’s aimed at Bruce, she can tell, angry at him for acting like this is a big deal.  
She grins, because he’s always been her favourite, a bloodthirsty little shit with no respect for anything – but he respects her, respects this, and that means a hell of a lot.  
“That’s my Dami.” She purrs, and she’s gratified to see the same hellraising grin spread across his mouth.  
“We need to get you some red lipstick.” Damian says, watching her mouth move, “That smile is going to make men crawl for you.”  
It’s a very adult statement which makes Bruce gape behind his son, but Violet just lets her mouth open wider, her smile all teeth and viciousness. Let Bruce stare, let him be old fashioned about it all, but clearly his son has the right idea.

Alfred switches automatically, of course, the faithful old retainer, calling her Mistress Violet, and he doesn’t say anything when he returns dresses and skirts to her closet, neatly pressed and cleaned. He doesn’t even say anything when he rearranges her drawers and places all of the beautiful, lacy objects in one pile, away from the boring, practical ones.  
Dick fucking loves the panties, loves seeing her in lace and silks, in stockings and dresses, and he shows this appreciation by pressing close whenever she’s dressing. His hands are those she feels on her hips when she pads herself out, making an hourglass figure out of nothing, the way Harley had shown her one night on the rooftops.  
“My gorgeous girl.” Dick hums, and kisses the back of her neck before helping her settle the wig into place, “We’ve got to tell the old man you need to grow your hair out, I want to be able to pet you and know it’s you.”  
“It doesn’t feel like me.” Violet admits, and bites her lip. Surely this is when her boyfriend tries to tell her that she’s making a mistake, and that she should just give up on this little adventure, “It feels like someone else, not me, not yet.”  
“My gorgeous girl.” He says again, and puts his arms around her, tucking his chin over her shoulder, for all that he has to go up on tiptoe to do so, “So pretty, so perfect, my girl wonder.”  
If he can say it like this, she thinks, before the hormones, before the breasts are budding, with her hair still buzzed short and her five o’clock shadow growing in on her jaw – if he can say it when she can barely stand herself, he must mean it. He has to believe it.

Tim and Kon find out through the grapevine, which is like wildfire in the superhero community, and when Tim comes home from Titan Tower, he’s got Kon with him, and they’re both a little curious, a little wide-eyed, and Violet shakes her head at them.  
“Still just me, baby bird.” She says, and watches him grin, blue eyes so alive.  
“Violet.” Kon says, polite, Connor Kent to the core, “Clark said – “  
“That’s your name, right?” Tim asks, interrupting his boyfriend.  
“Violet. 12 letters down from Jay, 12 letters for 12 years of being alive again.” She says, and watches Kon’s face crumple, before she remembers that he, too, was dead for a while.  
“It’s pretty.” Tim replies, gripping his boyfriend’s hand as Kon takes a few breaths, “Suits you.”  
“You’re being unfair.” Kon says, when he’s got himself back together, “Pretty doesn’t cover it. You look – you look dangerous, Violet.”  
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Superboy.” Violet grins, like a shark sighting a minnow, “You’ll be happy to hear that Damian is already finding me some lipstick he thinks will suit.”  
Tim covers a smile with his hand.  
“How’s B taking it?”  
She knew it was coming, the question that hurts, and she just shrugs into it.  
“Probably pissed he didn’t see it first. Greatest detective and all.” She manages to make it sound offhand, but Tim rolls his eyes.  
“We’ll talk to him.” He promises, and Violet thinks she’s never been luckier than she is to have her family.

The villains know, too – at least, the big names, because even Two Face greets her as girl wonder, and she can see the frown on Bruce’s face as if he’s wondering how it travels. Like he’s not screwing the hell out of Catwoman on the regular, and like she doesn’t pick things up and spread rumours.  
“Hood!” Dick shouts, and she turns fast enough to catch a thug in the jaw with her boot, the new heels with the steel reinforcement, and sends him stumbling.  
“Thanks, babe.” She flirts back, and Bruce looks like he’d rather be anywhere but there, “You don’t like it when someone else comes up behind your girl, huh?”  
“My girl.” Dick says, softly, and grins, “Yeah, no one else gets to manhandle my girl.”  
The rest of the fight blurs past, the two of them back to back and ignoring Bruce until he sends more thugs their way. They take care of it, together, and Violet catches herself thinking that she’s the luckiest girl she knows.

When she takes her first steps, she’s well-coached, her heels barely trembling on the floor, Cass and Steph behind her in case she falls, the red lipstick perfect on her mouth, her own hair grown out dark and thick to her shoulders, and full of so much product she thinks she’ll never be able to recreate the style on her own. Tim and Kon whistle from the side of the ballroom, and Damian steps up to take her arm, leading her to Dick, who’s looking at her like she’s the whole world, and he wants to swallow her whole.  
“Presenting Violet Todd.” Alfred’s voice rings out over the throng, the noise from those around them wondering who this woman is.  
She lifts her chin, shoulders back, walking from her hips as if every sway could move mountains, and watches Dick’s eyes go black with want, watches him rub his palms against his pants to keep from sweating, and grins like a predator stalking her prey.  
She doesn’t feel right, maybe that’s true, doesn’t feel like she’s convincing – shoulders too broad, jaw too strong, too aware of just how much of her needed to be waxed or shaved before she could slip into the little black dress and wear this face out into the public.  
But as Damian steps away, and Dick slips his arm around her waist, cradling her to him like she’s tiny, precious, gorgeous, she thinks that maybe, if he can see her like this, she might one day believe it.  
“Violet Todd,” Dick whispers into her ear as he steers her to the dancefloor, and conversation starts again in the ballroom. Bruce lifts a champagne flute to them from where he’s standing with Selina, who leers appreciatively at the two of them, before Bruce whisks her away, “Yeah. That’s my girl.”


End file.
